Christmas Snapshots
by Orlissa
Summary: Quick glances at Skye & Ward's Christmasses together in the Haylie/Ada/Ellie Verse. My contribution to the Skyeward Christmas Fic Fest
1. 2013

**A/N:** Um, so the thing is I grossly overestimated the time I had to write this - not to mention not calculating real life and other writing-inhibiting factors in -, so here I am, on Christmas day, my scheduled day, and I don't have the story ready. Out of the eight chapters planned, as I'm writing this, I have two done, but I swear I'm going to do my best to finish up the other six as well (or, in this case, maybe more, if the audience so wishes).

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy my little bit of a story, and that you have a wonderful time this holiday season! :)

 **Diclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

 **2013**

Christmas music was playing softly from the Bus's speakers in the lounge, the floor was littered with torn pieces of wrapping paper, Fitz and Simmons were heatedly arguing about how, scientifically speaking, Santa Clause could deliver all the presents in one night (how they got to that, Grant had no idea) with May listening on, and Coulson was suggesting they should bring out some eggnog, even though none of them had had breakfast yet, while Grant sat in one of the cozy armchairs on the side, looking at his teammates–his _family_ –with a content smile on his face.

"Hey, stud," Skye stepped to him, barefoot, her hair a mess, one of his hoodies thrown over her pajamas, but grinning widely. Not caring about their company, she slid into his lap and looped her arms around his neck. "You seriously win the Boyfriend of the Year Award for this stunt, you know that, right?" she asked before giving him a quick kiss.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he teased her when the kiss ended, unconsciously leaning towards her, wanting more. Of course he knew what she meant–it was only a couple of days ago that she told him how much she had been looking forward a real family Christmas with the team, and how she felt bad for still wanting celebrate now, after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. So he did the only thing that seemed sensible to him: he made sure she'd have that family Christmas she longed for and got the whole team into the Bus's lounge for Christmas morning.

She flicked his earlobe, making him wince–she knew all of his weaknesses–, and chuckled. "Honestly, you're a piece of work," she said, then kissed him again, this time longer. "Bu I love you."

He cupped her face in his hand and looked into her eyes. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice thick from emotion.

She smirked. "I'm glad to know that." She paused, and ran a finger down his neck, leaving goosebumps in her wake, before leaning closer and whispering into his ear, "And I don't wanna break the party up or anything yet, but I just want to tell you that I have another gift for you, but you really shouldn't open it here."

Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get out of there.


	2. 2014

**2014**

"Skye," he called softly as he rubbed her side, trying to ease her awake.

"No…" she grumbled and tried–unsuccessfully–pull the duvet over her head. "I wanna sleep."

He snuggled a little closer to her, so their bodies were basically pressed together, and tried again, this time gently kissing her neck. "It's Christmas morning. I bet everybody's already up and waiting for us." Another kiss. "To exchange presents and be merry and all." He nuzzled his nose against her shoulder. "To have a family Christmas. You love that."

She let out some unintelligible noise that could have been an agreement, then turned around, so they were facing each other as they lay in the bed, and tucked her head under his chin.

"I do…" she almost whined, slipping an arm around his waist. "But I'm tired."

"You can come back to sleep later if you want," he tried to negotiate, but all he got as response was another grunt before her breathing started to even out once again. He let her be for a little while–there was something calming about her sleeping snuggled into him he loathed to part with–, and then by the time he decided to try again a minute or so later, she spoke again.

"You do realize," she said, her breath tickling his neck, "that this is the last Christmas we can actually sleep in for the next, like, eighteen years?" she asked, burrowing herself even deeper into his embrace and basically purring with contentment.

What she said made him stop for a moment. He blinked first, then a wide, foolish smile blossomed on his face slowly as he reached between them and laid his palm on the gentle curve of her belly where their baby was growing.

(The thought of that still amazed him.)

"So I guess," she went on, sliding her own hand on top of his, "we deserve an extra hour." She let out a breath. "Especially since I _bet_ it's still criminally early."

Relenting to her, he let his body relax. "Now that you say it," he said, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, "the team really can wait for a little longer."

He could feel her smile against his neck. "And if anyone gets upset, we can just blame it on the baby."


	3. 2015

**A/N:** Sorry for making you wait this long! My writer's block hasn't lifted completely yet (it seems so), and I hasn't been in the best place in the last couple of days (let's just say that my uncle's family is not good for my mental health). But here's to hoping that the next chapters will come easier now :)

* * *

 **2015**

"Ward, I think your kid is broken," Hunter said almost off-handedly–but smirking–as he sat on the couch, vaguely gesturing towards Haylie.

Grant followed the mercenary's gaze: Haylie was sitting on the floor–a pillow placed behind her, just in case–, surrounded by a colorful explosion of freshly unwrapped toys (a side-effect of having a big family), and yet, at the moment her interest was completely occupied by none else than a bigger piece of torn wrapping paper. She held the shiny paper in her tiny hands, shaking it, then laughing when it gave a crinkling sound, as if it was the greatest toy ever.

"She's just…" Grant started with a smile, ready to defend his baby, but then gave up with a shrug. "Don't insult my daughter."

Hunter held up his hands in surrender. "I just say it as I see it, mate."

Not even caring about the Brit–whom Grant kind of liked to consider an annoying, but lovable family pet, which mentality he fully intended to pass onto his daughter–, Grant walked over to Haylie and sat cross-legged in front of her. Seeing her father, Haylie started to shake the wrapping paper even harder, almost bouncing with excitement.

"Look at how silly Uncle Hunter is," Grant said in a cooing voice. "He can't even see how fun the paper is."

Haylie clapped her little hands, then dropped the wrapping paper and threw her weight forward, in an attempt to get closer to her dad, landing with a soft thud. At almost seven months old, Haylie was sitting confidently, but crawling was a skill she had yet to master–although she was right on track to it. Even now, she tried to brace herself against the pillow behind her and push herself forward–with moderate success.

Grant, wanting to spur her on, grabbed the closest toy lying around–some plush dog with colorful buttons that promised different noises–, and dangled it in front of her. With one confident push, Haylie managed to propel herself forward just a little bit, but close enough to him that she could reach forward, grab the paw of the dog, and, giggling, pull it to her–only to try to stuff the paw into her mouth a moment later.

Chuckling, Grant grabbed the baby by her waist, and, the toy still firmly held in her fist, lifted her into his lap, then blew a raspberry on her neck, making her squirm and laugh.

As cheesy as it was, this was shaping to be his best Christmas so far.


	4. 2016

**2016**

"Skye," Grant started almost too nonchalantly as he came out of the bathroom one night, just a couple of days before Christmas, "could you handle Haylie for a couple of hours on Thursday?"

She stopped for a moment as she was folding back the comforter, and looked at him, her head tilted slightly sideways. "Of course, no problem. But why?" She straightened up and put a hand on her hip. "Coulson's not calling you in, is he? He said he'd make sure we have the holidays free…"

"No, nothing like that," he assured her with a corner of his mouth pulling into a smile as he walked over to the bed. "It's just I thought I'd go out with the guys to get a tree."

She blinked, processing the information. "With the guys?"

"Yeah, you know," he shrugged, "Trip, Hunter, Fitz, Mack, if he can make it."

"To get a tree," she clarified. "You need four guys and a couple of hours to get a tree. Babe, you know there's a guy selling Christmas trees in the parking lot, like, two streets from here?" she asked, slightly amused.

Grant ran his hand through his hair before climbing into bed. "Yeah, I know. It's just we thought we'd go out of town, into the woods, to cut one ourselves. To make a day out of it."

Imagining the five of them out in the forest, knee-deep in snow, axes in their hands, Skye needed every ounce of her willpower not to laugh out loud.

"Isn't that kinda illegal?" she asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she soothed the covers over her legs.

"We'll take our badges. Say it's official S.H.I.E.L.D. business if anyone asks," he replied with complete seriousness, which, finally, made her laugh.

"Oh, Robot, don't tell me you're even ready to break the law over a tree!" she chuckled, playfully shoving at his shoulder.

"Just a little bit," he said, putting his thumb and forefinger together. "But really… If there's one thing I like to remember about my childhood Christmasses, it's the gigantic tree we had in the living every single year," he went on, not really meeting her eyes. "It just had a… feeling. A little bit of–don't laugh at me–Christmas magic. And it's our first Christmas in this house, _our_ house, and I want to give you, you and Haylie, this bit of magic. So an old tree from the parking lot won't do. You deserve the best tree, and I'm determined to find it," he finished it, looking at her at last and taking her hand in his.

Skye couldn't decide what she wanted to do more, hug him close or kiss him. She knew how hard it still was for him to talk about his childhood, and that ever since the team left the Playground and everyone started living on their own four months ago, he'd been missing the guys, even if he didn't really show it. A guys' day out, doing "manly" things was the least he deserved.

"Okay," she said after a short pause, drawing circles into the top of his hand with her thumb. "Do it. Join the dark side and start a Christmas tree smuggling ring. But I have two conditions," she added with a grin.

"Name them."

"One, if you get caught and end up in jail, I'm not bailing you out. You guys are trained agents, you take care of it."

"Seems reasonable," he nodded, grinning as well. "And the second?"

"Don't go overboard–choose a tree that actually fits into the house."

He leaned closer and kissed her, cupping her face in his palm.

"I can promise you that."

(They went overboard.)


	5. 2017

**2017**

"Damn it!" Skye shouted, more in frustration than in pain, as the knife sliced into her finger. She quickly wrapped it up in a dish towel, still silently cursing under her breath, as if the harsh words could help her.

"I heard you yell," Grant said, peeking into the kitchen. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," she sniffed, pressing down on her injured, throbbing finger and turning away from him. "It's nothing. Go, be with the kids."

"They're okay," he replied, clearly having no intentions of leaving her alone. "I just put Ada down, and Haylie's playing nicely," he said as he walked up to her. "Now, let me see it…" He gently took her wounded hand and unwrapped the now bloodstained dish towel to inspect the cut. "It's not that deep, it isn't even bleeding anymore. Let's just put a band-aid on it," he smiled at her.

That was the last straw (she wasn't exactly sure why it was the last straw, but it _was_ ). Casting her eyes down at the kitchen floor and taking a deep, ragged breath, she started crying. No, not even crying– _bawling_.

"Hey, hey, hey," Grant said softly, cupping her face in his palms, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Everything's okay."

"No, it's not," she said, pushing him away maybe with a little bit more force than necessary. "Everyone'll be here in a couple of hours, the food's nowhere near ready, the house's a mess, _I'm_ a mess… I'm tired and gross and… gosh, I think I have baby spit on me…" she went on, her words and breathing getting more and more erratic. "Why did I think having Christmas here was a good idea?"

Grant didn't say a word, simply reached out to her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her body; he held her, swaying gently and caressing her hair until she calmed down a little. When her breathing even out a bit, he pushed her away so he could look into her eyes.

"As I see it," he said in a calm, level voice, "we have two options. One, we call everyone and tell them dinner is cancelled."

"No, we can't do that, Haylie's been so looking forward to that and–"

"I know," he interrupted her. "So have you. I know you. You can't wait to have everyone in one place," he said with a small smile. "That's why we have option number two: you leave the kitchen now, go, cuddle Ada, play with Haylie… Take a bath, calm down, take a little you time. And let me take care of everything else."

For a long moment she was just looking at him, then sniffed one last time before hugging him again, holding him tightly and burying her face in his chest.

"You are amazing, you know that, right?" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Believe me," he replied, pushing her away and kissing her forehead, "the feeling is mutual."


	6. 2018

**A/N:** Yay, first update of 2017! Happy New Year! (May it suck less than 2016.)

* * *

 **2018**

 _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…_

The first lines of the classic poem wiggled their way, uninvited, into Grant's mind as he quietly closed the front door, peeled his coat off and looked around in the empty, silent hallway. With a heavy sigh, he tossed his duffel into the hallway closet–he'd deal with tomorrow–, then bent down to get rid of his shoes.

He'd been called in for what was supposed to be a flash op a couple of days ago, then, as these things usually go, the mission stretched on for days, which resulted in him only getting home in the middle of the night of Christmas Eve (or was it Christmas Day already? He wasn't even sure anymore). And it hit him harder than he'd thought it would–Haylie'd been talking about Santa and the elves and the reindeers basically non-stop since the beginning of December, and he'd only gotten to see the look of complete awe on Ada's face as she took in their Christmas tree on the picture Skye'd sent him. Staying away from his family during the holidays simply _sucked_.

(That time, only six years ago, when he'd spent Christmas deep undercover and he hadn't even _cared_ seemed eons ago now.)

Bone weary and ready to drop where he stood, he dragged his feet towards the stairs–thankfully, he'd been able to shower and change on the plane en route back to HQ, so now only falling to bed and snuggle up to Skye remained on his agenda for the night. All of what sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment.

Reaching the stairs, Grant, almost absent-mindedly, turned his head towards the living room where the tree stood, and smiled. The lights were turned off, but the glass ornaments (carefully placed on the higher branches, where the girls couldn't reach them) still gleamed softly in the dim moonlight. The space under the tree was already fully packed with carefully wrapped gifts, and the stockings, goofy, colorful ones, were hanging from the fireplace, fully stuffed.

Forgetting the promise of his bed for a moment, he let go of the railing, and walked into the living room. Not even thinking about what he was doing, he turned on the fairy lights wrapped around the tree, then sat down on the couch and just watched as the tiny bulbs blinked with a smile on his face. He might have missed Christmas Eve, but at least he'd be there for the morning, and that was what really mattered–he'd get to see as his daughters tear away the wrapping paper, he'd get to hear their laughter, he'd get to share quick kisses with Skye, tasting like hot chocolate…

He stifled a yawn and let his eyes drop for a moment. He felt as if every ounce of strength had gone out of his limbs, as if he wouldn't be able to move from this one spot even if the world was ending. Yawning again, he lay down on the couch, resting his head on one of the cushions–I quick nap wouldn't hurt, he thought as he closed his eyes, just five minutes, and then he'd go upstairs, have proper rest… Just five minutes…

…He woke hours later, his neck stiff, to a loud chorus of "Daddy! Daddy!", opening his eyes only moments before two overexcited monkeys crawled all over him.


	7. 2019

**2019**

The kids in bed and the kitchen tidied up, Grant was just about to head upstairs–Skye and him still had some last-minute wrapping to do before the girls mercilessly tore all the glittering paper off their presents the next morning, a task she had already started once they were sure Haylie and Ada were asleep–when he heard the telltale, barely-there creak of the stairs. Having a very good guess of what was the cause of it, he was already smiling as he left the kitchen to investigate the noise.

He was not wrong.

Haylie, barefoot, in her pajamas, her old, stuffed monkey pressed to her chest, was already halfway to the living room.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, peanut?" he asked calmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Haylie froze, then slowly, very slowly turned towards him.

"I couldn't sleep, daddy," she said quietly but without a grain of guiltiness. "I needed to check that everything was okay for Santa," she explained with such a confidence that eerily reminded him of a girl who cheekily asked "What up?" when two strange men basically broke into her home. He could barely keep himself from chuckling. "Because if it isn't, then Santa won't come and bring presents."

"I've already made sure that everything is in order, baby," he reassured her as he stepped to her and scooped her up. Haylie wound her little arms around his neck right away, holding the monkey by one paw as it hung down on his back. "Don't worry."

"Did you check the cookies?" she went on as he started to carry her upstairs.

"I did. They're in place and taste great. The milk's also taken care of," he added, anticipating her next question.

"And what if he's loc… lacto…" She sighed impatiently. "Can't drink milk?"

"I checked the file we have on him, and milk is a go," he replied without missing a beat.

"Carrots for the reindeers?"

"Taken care of."

"The fireplace?"

"Cleaned and ready."

"And will he find our house?"

"Of course. The lights are turned on, he couldn't miss it," he kept answering with a smile on his face as he opened the door of Haylie's room. "Everything is ready for his arrival."

He felt Haylie nod against his shoulder, then, just as he was about to tuck her in, she suddenly gasped in horror "Daddy, and what if he gets lost? If he turns right when he should turn left, and he ends up in a… in a forest, and then no-one gets presents?"

"That's not gonna happen," he said as he pulled the covers to Haylie's chin. "And do you know why?" Haylie shook her head, her eyes wide in terror. "Because I know for sure that Uncle Fitz just sent him a new guidance system last week. And what's the deal with Uncle Fitz's gadgets?"

"They always work," Haylie replied, smiling now.

"They always work," he echoed, then pressed kiss to Haylie's forehead. "Have you calmed down enough to sleep now?"

Haylie nodded, then reached for him and put her tiny hands on his face, trying to pull him closer. He let her, and Haylie planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "You're the best, daddy," she said in a sleepy voice.

Smiling and blinking rapidly, Grant adjusted her duvet so she was properly covered, hugging her monkey tight. "Only for you," he said as he turned off the light and left the room, closing the door slowly.


	8. 2020

**A/N:** Yay, I finally finished it! And it only took like… almost three weeks. I need to pick up my pace… Anyway, I hope you'll like this final chapter.

* * *

 **2020**

Her father opened the door mere seconds after Skye rang the bell (she had a key, he'd told her to use it freely, but it still felt simply wrong to just walk into his home), smiling widely and ushering her inside.

"Skye! It's so good to see you," he said, already helping her coat off. "You're not in a hurry, right? Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Hot chocolate?"

Skye just smiled to herself as she unwound her scarf; actually, she only came to pick up some medicine for their old dog, but it wasn't like she was in a hurry to be somewhere else. And seeing Cal being so excited to be around her–even now, good three years after they had mended their relationship–always made her giddy. "Hot chocolate sounds great."

Cal snapped his fingers. "One hot chocolate coming right up!" He hanged her coat up, then put his hand on her waist for a moment, nudging her forward. "You just sit down, I'll join you in a moment."

Shaking her head slightly, Skye made her way through Cal's small, but neat apartment, walking into the modestly decorated living room–where she stopped right away, letting out a hearty chuckle.

"Dad!" she called to the kitchen as she sat down on the couch, gazing at the coffee table–or more like the pile of (mostly pink) boxes covering it. "What's this?"

"What?" he replied, sounding a bit confused at first.

"Did you rob a toy store?"

"Oh, that," he said as he joined her in the living room, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hand. "I just… Here you go," he handed her the mug. "I just finished shopping for the girls for Christmas, and was about to wrap them." He scratched the back of his head, standing by the coffee table somewhat awkwardly. "Did I go overboard?"

"No, not really," she shook her head, her eyes twinkling. "If what I'm seeing now is for the next five years or so."

Cal opened his mouth as if to say something in his defense, but then closed again, chuckled, and sat down in the armchair next to the couch. "Well," he said at last with a small, almost sad smile, "I feel like I have some spoiling to make up for."

Skye merely nodded at that, not wanting to delve into painful topics. Instead she took a sip from her hot chocolate, looking at the pile of gifts over the rim of the mug. Smirking into her drink, her free hand discretely slipped to her abdomen. Well, nothing's better than the now.

"I'm just a little worried about you, you know," she said, careful to speak in a light tone and to keep that smile–now a little nervous–on her face as she leaned back a little and looked at her father.

Cal shifted on his seat. "I'm fine, don't–"

"It's just if you bought so many gifts this year," she cut in, not letting him finish, "how are you gonna handle next year? This coffee table can hold only so much stuff."

Cal blinked in confusion. "Next year?"

"Yeah, you know," she paused for half a second, the corner of her mouth twitching, "when you have one more grandkid to spoil."

"What…" Cal started, then trailed off. Skye could practically see as the cogwheels turned in his head, putting all the new information together and coming to a conclusion. When it finally happened, he raised his hand to his mouth and blinked rapidly. "Really?" he asked in a voice considerably higher than his usual tone. "Are you… really?"

Skye bit into her lip so she wouldn't grin too wildly. Or start crying. Both were a possibility. "Really," she nodded. "Eight weeks now, so we're not totally out of the woods yet, but everything's looking great."

"Oh, sweetheart," he almost whispered, blinking again. "Come here!" He stood up, and she did too, letting her father wrap his arms around her; she could feel his shoulders tremble slightly as he silently sobbed in joy. "This is the most wonderful Christmas gift you could have gotten me."

She didn't have the voice to say it out loud–she was crying with him by then–, but she wanted to tell him that this, _this_ what they had now, was exactly what he deserved.


End file.
